


When Can I See You Again?

by isyotm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Public Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is just trying to study in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Can I See You Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ms_worplesdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_worplesdon/gifts).



> a.k.a. "Please Do Not Masturbate in the Library"
> 
> Happy holidays, ms_worplesdon! I hope you enjoy your gift.
> 
> Please see tags for warnings. Title is from [that Owl City song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM1YMeDsc-M).

Arthur remembers from the Campus Ambassadors spiel Lance spent three weeks memorizing and practicing in front of the mirror in the dorm room they shared freshman year that there are 17 libraries on or around campus, housing millions of books, articles, magazines, and microfiches on just about any subject someone might be interested in researching.

To be completely honest, Arthur can only find (and therefore only cares about) four of them: The north library which is always incredibly crowded but has the best and most efficient Starbucks on campus (and possibly Earth); the law library which is filled with stressed out grad students who shoot laser glares at anyone daring to breathe too loudly; the tower library which is actually located sort of underground and just got a recent facelift (the entire bottom floor—previously unused—was built out last spring and now has new study rooms, new computers, and hundreds of seats, tables, and couches); and the architecture library on the edge of campus, Arthur’s favorite and one of the university’s best-kept secrets.

Lance told him it was built fifty years ago, designed by one of the students in the architecture college, but in Arthur’s opinion, it’s timeless. The outside blends in seamlessly with the conifers that sprout on the edge of campus and the natural light let in by the floor-to-ceiling windows is soothing compared to the usual fluorescents, making it easier to stay focused. Upstairs are the less frequently used books, a loft with a skylight, and ladders leading to private desk areas where he can curl up to study, work, or take a nap without worrying anyone is going to stumble over him and yell at him for sleeping or steal his stuff. Even at the busiest times of day, it’s peaceful and mostly empty and so Arthur tends to use it for his base of operations, hanging out between classes or before clubs, sports, or events.

Since he goes so often, he has a particular little spot he thinks of as his—in the very back corner, farthest from the stairs, tucked away behind the Qs—and so when he finally makes his way there one Wednesday afternoon after two exams that he probably failed and an _interminable_ business law lecture, he’s more than a little annoyed to find that it’s already occupied, a head of black hair just barely visible from this angle. _Ugh, freshmen._ It has to be. Everyone else who frequents the architecture library knows that _that_ spot is Arthur’s, at least between 2:00 and 4:30 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and 11:30 and 1:00 and 3:00 and 5:15 on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

He can feel the residual irritation from his shitty day building up and zeroing on this entitled freshman who thinks they can just show up and sit in _his_ spot without so much as a “do you mind?” He rounds the last row of shelves, ready to give them a piece of his mind—

And freezes, because he notices two very important things.

  1. The freshman is incredibly striking. His black hair and red lips contrast starkly against his pale skin and Arthur loses a second simply staring. His head is tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open, and his long neck is stretched out invitingly. A thought flashes through Arthur’s head, too fast to catch, but the impression it leaves behind is that he would very much like to have his mouth on that neck. Maybe bite it, leave some marks behind. He’s not picky.
  2. One of the freshman’s hands is beneath the table and his arm is jerking rhythmically. Every once in a while, his face contorts like he’s confused and his mouth moves wordlessly, emitting little gasping sounds. It’s almost like he’s…almost like…



_Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit—_

Arthur stands very still for two seconds before common sense kicks back in and he nearly trips in his haste to leave, afraid that at any moment the mysterious freshman will finish, open his eyes, and find Arthur standing there, gaping at him in disbelief. Afraid that maybe the freshman will open his eyes and be disgusted that Arthur is _watching_ him.

Afraid that maybe he won’t be disgusted at all.

* * *

 

(That night, Arthur dreams about him, the line of his neck, the expression on his face. He dreams that he stayed, that the freshman opened his eyes and found Arthur standing there, watching him, and held out his clean hand, inviting Arthur to join him. He dreams that he accepted and that when he stepped within reach, the freshman’s hand reached out, pulled him closer, and helped Arthur settle into his lap. He dreams they rocked against each other, touching and grinding, until they both came.

When Arthur’s alarm wakes him up, he finds that at least one part of his dream came true. He quickly changes his boxers and his sheets and gets ready for the day.)

* * *

 

He’s almost afraid to go back to the architecture library the next day, climbing the ladder to the loft with mounting dread. What if the freshman is there again, defiling Arthur’s corner with his... _carnality_? (And really, he must be spending too much time listening to the proselytizers in the quad if he can’t even bring himself to say “masturbation.”)

He climbs the last step and rounds the corner, but his spot is empty. There’s no sign of anyone, or things they might’ve left behind to claim the spot. He sits down gingerly, closing his eyes and bracing himself for an awkward _squelch_ or _crunch_ or some other noise to indicate what happened here yesterday, but there’s nothing.

He opens his eyes and looks down at the fabric, but there are no awkward stains either. _Well at least he knows how to clean up after himself._ He feels his whole body go hot as he imagines the freshman coming, white spilling over his hand, and then licking his fingers clean, eyes glazed and hooded from the post-orgasmic glow. Staring right at Arthur—

He jolts quickly to his feet, gathers up his things, and strides out, his jacket held awkwardly and not at all subtly in front of his crotch.

* * *

 

(He’s sitting on the freshman’s lap again, pushing his hips up into the circle of the other man’s fingers, panting and whispering how he’s “so close, so close, god, _please_ ” and when he finally comes, the freshman holds up his hand and Arthur makes sure to lick it clean, pushing his tongue between each finger to make sure he doesn’t miss a single drop.

When he’s done, the freshman leans in and kisses him, tongue pushing into Arthur’s mouth, and the feel of it is so intoxicating it makes him moan.

The sound of his own voice echoing around his room wakes him up.)

* * *

 

It takes him a week to calm down about the… _incident_ ; the wet dreams fade (sort of), he barely even does a double-take when he sees black hair bobbing through a crowd on campus, and he’s stopped avoiding the architecture library like it’s a creepy ex.

When he steps inside the building, it’s quiet and cozy like any other Tuesday afternoon. He nods to the librarians—two environmental architecture majors he knows through a friend of a friend—and heads up the stairs.

As he walks to the back of the library, he can hear a soft, familiar noise. Something about it bugs him, like the back of his brain is screaming at him to fucking wake up and recognize it already, but he’s distracted by a murmuring sound, punctuated occasionally by harsh breathing.

Sucking. The noise is sucking. Someone is getting a blowjob.

Someone is getting a blowjob _in his spot._

He whirls around the corner, ready to rip them a new asshole, but the reprimand dies in his throat.

The freshman is biting down on the back of one hand, has it stuffed almost inside his mouth, but it isn’t doing a whole lot of good because Arthur can clearly hear every word that passes his lips. And boy, does the freshman have a lot to say.

“ _Yeah_ , just like that, just keep going like that, _ah_ , so good. You’re so good at this, Gwaine, _ah_ , can’t wait for you to—”

A hand and the back of a head shoot out from under the table. The hand clamps tight over the freshman’s mouth, awkwardly smushing against his palm, while the head shakes in what Arthur assumes is exasperation. “Merlin, as much as I love how chatty you are, now is not the time.”

The freshman—Merlin—opens his eyes (and they are blue, blue, _blue,_ Arthur feels like he could fall right into them) and gives the other man—Gwaine—a dirty look. “You’re the one who wanted to blow me in the library.”

“Yes, I said I wanted to _blow_ you, not get _caught_.”

“What happened to that being half the fun?”

“Not right after spending a night in holding.”

“Wait until next month, got it.”

Gwaine laughs. “Smart boy,” he says, and dives back under the table.

Merlin bites his tongue as Gwaine gets back to work, but that doesn’t stop the moans coming out, long and low, driving Arthur nearly out of his mind. He wants to unzip his pants, to reach in past his briefs and touch himself, just a little bit, just to take some of the pressure off. He rubs the heel of his palm against the front of his pants, pushes into it, trying to calm himself down, trying to get himself off.

Merlin comes, his back arching as he gasps a soft, “Fuck, _Gwaine_ ,” and digs his hand further into Gwaine’s hair. His eyes flutter open a few moments later and he looks up.

And stares right at Arthur.

* * *

 

Arthur skips class the next day, mired down in a full-blown panic. There’s nothing really going on inside of his head except blaringly loud emergency sirens and the occasional thought that follows one of two paths:

  1. Am I gay?
  2. He _saw me_



He decides to tackle the first one, sits down at his desk, and takes deep breaths, laying out the facts; he’s had girlfriends in the past and while he was with them, he always enjoyed himself—kissing, touching, tasting, fucking, whatever his girlfriend at the time was into.

But at the same time, he can’t get the image of the freshman— _Merlin_ —out of his head, watching Merlin come and wishing that _he’d_ been the one to do that, been the one under the table making Merlin feel so good that he couldn’t help himself, the reason that Merlin had to stuff his hand in his mouth in order to keep quiet. He imagines what it’d be like to have his hand around Merlin’s dick, to fuck him or—just thinking it sends a thrill down Arthur’s spine, making him shiver—get fucked.

He gets distracted by that idea, and his hand drifts lower, ending up over the rising tent in the front of his pants. He can’t stop thinking about those _sounds_ , all the nonsense Merlin was babbling, talking about how good Gwaine felt, how much he liked it.

* * *

 

He thinks about it again in the shower that night, one of his fingers sneaking down the cleft of his ass, teasing at his hole. He feels it spasm beneath his touch and he gasps, imagining it’s Merlin’s hand, Merlin’s long, thin fingers slipping inside, sliding past the first knuckle, the second one, opening him up.

_“You’ve never done something like this before, have you? That’s alright. I’ll make it good for you. Just relax, let me take care of you.”_

Arthur braces his chest against the wall of the shower, gasping as he feels himself clench around his finger. The angle is awkward, but as he gets used to the stretch, it feels comforting, having something so snug inside him. He remembers one of his ex-girlfriend’s wanted to try pegging and god, is he regretting saying no right now.

He reaches his other hand around in front of him and tugs at his dick, shyly at first, trying to sync up the two rhythms—in, out, in, out.

_“That’s it, just like that. Look at you go, what a natural. So pretty, too. So pretty just for me.”_

“Mmm—”

_“Oh, what’s that?”_

He can feel his orgasm building like a ball of light growing inside his groin, his legs and arms trembling as he gets closer and closer.

“Mer—”

_“Let me hear you. Let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”_

_“Mer—”_

_“Louder, Arthur, come on. No need to be shy. I want to hear how good you feel. How good I’m making you feel.”_

He pushes his finger a little deeper, brushing against something that makes it feel like he’s been struck by lightning and then it’s over. His orgasm rips through him, leaving him gasping Merlin’s name into the slick tile of the shower wall as he tries to reassemble the pieces of his brain.

* * *

 

After he gets out of the shower, he sits down at his computer and stares at the Google homepage for a little while. He’s felt like this about guys before—felt flashes of heat at the sight of his teammates changing in the locker room, or a little more than friendly interest in some of his guy friends’ romantic lives—but never so intensely. He can’t help but feel a little broken, because this is definitely _not_ what straight guys do.

He spends an hour or two Googling different phrases, trying to answer the nagging question _does anyone else feel this way?_ , when he finds it.

“Bisexual?”

He tries the word on, rolling it around in his mouth, seeing how it fits in with what he feels, how he views himself, and finds that it slots in quite well. Like a puzzle piece he hadn’t even known was missing.

Hmm. Bisexual.

* * *

 

In between the fantastic jacking off session and the new level of self-awareness, Arthur doesn’t think about the second item on his list until the next afternoon, when he’s accosted by the freshman— _Merlin,_ he reminds himself, and feels himself go a bit stupid around the edges at the sight of that face—in his new, (hopefully) unsullied spot in the architecture library. The lighting isn’t as nice, but it also doesn’t give him inappropriate boners, which he considers a pretty fair trade.

A hand slams down in the middle of his accounting textbook, interrupting the example Arthur was trying to puzzle out. He follows it up a long slender arm to flushed cheeks and two blazing blue eyes.

“I know you saw yesterday,” Merlin growls at him. Actually growls. Arthur feels a little dizzy with the sudden rush of arousal and it leaves him scrambling for an appropriate (let alone coherent) response.

“I—I don’t—”

“What do you want?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you trying to blackmail me? Or did you just want to get your closeted frat boy rocks off watching some other dude get his dick sucked? _What do you want?_ ”

Arthur doesn’t like lying (he blames Lance) and it had honestly never occurred to him to blackmail Merlin or his friend. His mouth, however, has decided it doesn’t like the moral high road his brain is taking and sides with another part of his anatomy instead. “Let me suck your dick.”

He feels almost as shocked as Merlin looks as he realizes what he’s just said.

“What?”

“Uh, I mean—I didn’t—”

“Where?”

“‘Where’ what?”

“Where are you planning on sucking my dick? Here? The bathroom? Your room? My roommate is sleeping so we can’t do it in my room.”

He really should set the record straight (he feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat at the terrible joke), but  the thought of having Merlin’s cock in his mouth, hearing him make all those noises just for him, is too intoxicating.

“Where you were the other day,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Merlin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he turns around and leads the way back. Arthur tries valiantly not to ogle, but the swell of Merlin’s ass in those tight jeans is incredibly distracting.

Merlin flops into the chair that until recently Arthur had only associated with learning and gives him a look. “What’s your name?”

“A-Arthur.”

“Well, _Arthur_.” Merlin gestures invitingly at his lower half. “Ready to get started or what?”

Arthur licks his lips, rolls is weight forward to the balls of his feet, hesitates.

“Look, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“No,” he says firmly, and more than a bit too loud. “No, it’s not that. I—I’ve never done this before.”

Merlin snorts. “Surprising absolutely no one. I can smell the repressed frat boy on you from a mile away.” Merlin quirks his eyebrow in an unspoken challenge— _Can’t bring yourself to do it, can you?_ —and Arthur skirts the table to kneel in between Merlin’s spread legs.

“Well, you can do that much at least.”

“Are you going to make fun of me the whole time?”

“Depends on how much natural talent you have.”

“I’ll show you natural talent,” Arthur mutters.

He unbuttons and unzips Merlin’s jeans, staring slack-jawed at the size of the bulge tenting the front of Merlin’s briefs. Despite his creeping, he’s never actually seen Merlin’s dick and it is…nice.

“Backing out?” Merlin taunts.

“Hardly. Just…strategizing.”

Merlin snorts. “This isn’t a merger.”

Arthur shoots him a look.

“Oh my god, you _are_ a business major, aren’t you? Are you also a trust fund baby?” Arthur doesn’t respond, but he can imagine the tellingly tight look on his own face. Merlin laughs. “You’re just every stereotype rolled into one, aren’t you?”

“You talk too much.”

“Well, what are you going to do to shut me up?”

Arthur strokes a finger along the outline of Merlin’s cock and is rewarded with a noise of appreciation. “That?” he says, although it comes out sounding much less confident than he meant it to.

“A…promising start,” Merlin acknowledges. “What else?”

Arthur licks his lips again and pulls down Merlin’s briefs. Merlin’s cock, almost fully hard and starting to turn a bit pink, bobs and nearly thwacks him in the face. He grips it in one hand, raises himself up onto his knees, and opens his mouth to taste.

It’s a little saltier, a little heavier, a little muskier, than normal skin taste, but Arthur likes the weight on his tongue and he’s enjoying Merlin’s bitten-back gasps even more.

“You know, I haven’t even done anything yet.” He can’t help himself, especially after all the shit Merlin was giving him.

“Oh shut the fuck up. You said you wanted to suck my dick, so get to work.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but sits up a little bit more and feeds more into his mouth. Merlin’s hand slides into his hair, tugging, pushing him forward slightly, and he winces, waiting for a gag reflex to kick in, but there’s nothing.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Merlin whispers and wraps his fingers tighter into Arthur’s hair, pushing him down even further onto his dick. “You failed to mention that little detail,” he says shakily.

Arthur’s mouth is a little too full to respond so instead he moans and pulls back to lick at the crown of Merlin’s cock, the underside, pushes down his briefs to lick a small patch of skin at the base. Arthur shoots a look at Merlin’s face and carefully pinches it between his teeth.

Merlin lets out a shout and that seems to break the dam because suddenly he’s eager to tell Arthur exactly what he thinks of Arthur’s skills.

“ _Damn_ , right there, yeah, yeah, just like. God, I take it back, I take it all back, you’re so fucking good at this, shit, _shit_ , Arthur, a- _ah_ , more, more of that, please just—yeah, oh god yeah, I—I— _Arthur_ —”

That’s about all the warning Arthur gets before Merlin comes, some of it splashing onto his face before he cups his hand around Merlin’s dick. He hesitantly licks a drop off the tip of his finger, but the taste is too bitter, the texture too weird, and he wipes his hand off on one of Merlin’s papers instead.

“Hey,” Merlin grumbles half-heartedly, his eyes closed. “That might’ve been important.”

“You got cum on my face. It’s only fair.”

“I what? Oh. Oh wow. I must say, that is a good look for you.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest but Merlin wipes the offending drops off with his thumb and then licks them off his hand, obviously enjoying himself.

“So have I bought your silence?” Merlin asks after he deems Arthur’s face as good as new.

“What?”

“You won’t rat us out?”

It takes him a minute to remember why he had Merlin’s dick in his mouth in the first place. “Oh, I—of-of course.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Really? That seems like a poor business decision to me.”

“Oh, does it?”

 “I mean, I want this secret kept for my entire time here, you know what I mean? Is a one-time payment really going to cut it?”

“You just want me to give you another blow job.”

“I am a selfish man. Although you seemed to enjoy it yourself—” Merlin nudges the bulge in Arthur’s trousers with the back of his foot, a smirk on his face—“so who’s to say this can’t be mutually beneficial?”

Arthur heaves an exasperated sigh, but he’s already looking forward to the next time they can do this. “Agreed.”  

**Author's Note:**

> The outside of the architecture library is based partially on [this Frank Lloyd Wright design](http://www.franklloydwright.org/images/data/ABOUT/large_image/000/000/12-4.JPG) and the inside is based partially on the architecture library at my university. I've never caught anyone masturbating in it though (thankfully).


End file.
